


Thanks for sharing (Oh, Fuck, Yeah)

by neuroglam



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Netorare, comforting yuri, hotwifing, insecure Otabek, interracial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9432656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neuroglam/pseuds/neuroglam
Summary: Kink meme prompt: Otabek loves Yuri and Yuri loves him too! Just... not enough to stop getting fucked by other dudes and sending Otabek pictures. Beka jerks off to them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Now translated into Spanish here: www.wattpad.com/408758468  
> Thank you, Reila!

On TV, Yuri's finishing up his free skate. He did brilliant, as usual, camera zooming in on the shit-eating grin that tells Otabek that Yuri knows it, too. The final scores come out and sure enough--this will be another gold. Otabek wishes he could have been there in person, but The Four Continents are coming. He's got an actual chance to win, so he's been spending as much time as possible at the rink. 

Yuri sits next to Yakov in the kiss-and-cry, still grinning. Yakov's pleased as well.

Otabek fiddles with his cell phone like a schoolgirl and pretends he's not waiting for it to ring. 

About ten minutes later, it finally does.

"Beka, did you see that?" Yuri says without preamble, still excited. "I did it, I landed everything!"

"And your spins had very good speed to them," Otabek says. "Congratulations. You deserve that gold."

"I wish you were here!" Yuri says. "Leo's taking us clubbing later. Should I take pictures?"

"Yeah. Please do." Otabek squeezes in before Yakov calls and Yuri needs to go.

*~*~*

Colorado's eleven hours ahead of Moscow, so it's mid-day by the time Otabek makes it to the rink and gets into practice proper. He should really focus on his form, but he can't--he's full of half-dread, half-excitement. Will Yuri do it? When? Where? Who with? He needs to get on his cell phone to find out, but his coach is watching like a hawk. 

Yuri could be doing it right now, and Otabek wouldn't know. 

Distracted, he lands hard on his butt. His coach scowls. 

"Sorry, toilet," Otabek says, and fuck this. He's out the rink and in a stall within a minute. His phone is blinking to alert him to a new message. Otabek opens it. 

_My reward_ , the message says, and underneath it is a picture of Yuri looking up, mouth stretched around a black dick so large he can barely fit a third of it in. Otabek's feeling so inadequate and yet he can't help starting to get hard.

 _You good with this, man?_ comes another text. _i got your boyfriend's phone he says to shoot and send whatever_

 _Good_ , Otabek says, and admitting it makes him feel a little pathetic. 

Waiting for the next pic is torture: it gives Otabek the time to think, and that never goes well. They don't talk about this, but Otabek's always felt less than, starting from their earlier skating days when he'd had to work twice as hard at things Yuri got on the first go. Then they were teens, and Yuri only had eyes for Victor. Deep down, Otabek knows Yuri is with him only 'cause he's settling, now that Victor's actually married and training bright hopefuls out of Denver with his husband. And then there's this--Yuri, showing him he could get someone with a bigger dick any time he wants.

The pictures tear Otabek's heart in two, but he can't look away from them either. They go in a special folder and he hasn't deleted a single one, even the crap and smudgy ones. Yuri is always so, so beautiful, in every one of them, and Otabeck is a sad, miserable fuck for sitting here half-hard hoping that another one will come.

What he gets is even better than a picture--it's a vid file. Yuri and Black Guy are on some cheap hotel bed. Yuri is on all fours, making the most wretched sounds as the black guy pumps into him. Then black guy pulls out all the way and shows Otabek Yuri's gaping, stretched hole, and Otabek just can't--he digs into his tracks where his cock is rock-hard, and rubs. Black guy lines himself up and slides in again. The phone shakes as he thrusts and gives Otabek a view of Yuri's curved back, his head down on the pillow, before the video cuts off. 

Otabek's breath catches in his throat. He wishes he could wreck Yuri like this--wishes he were good enough, but he isn't.

Another video arrives. Black guy holds the phone in one hand and has the other on Yuri's hip, pulling him to meet his thrusts. Then black guy grunts and starts pumping harder--Otabek can tell the exact time when he comes. He pulls out, and Yuri's hole twitches a little before it closes up and come starts leaking out of it and down his balls. 

Otabek wishes he were there; wants to fuck into that hole, into the other guy's come, and it doesn't take him long after for his hand to speed up and him to come all over it. 

He closes his eyes and pants, his heart still beating fast enough to come out of his chest. 

What a fucking trip.

The phone pings again. It's another video, this time of Yuri, on his back, looking like a fucked-out mess, finishing himself off. He makes a chu~ face at the camera as he comes. 

The final thing he receives is a picture of Yuri's face, eyes closed, golden hair strewn on the pillow. The text reads, _your guy is dead to the world. i tucked him in. he said to tell you he's looking forward to coming home. don't know who you are, man, but you're one lucky guy. thanks for sharing._

*~*~*

Yuri hugs him as soon as he sees him waiting at arrivals. “Did you like it? You didn’t say anything,” he says, half-earnest, half-disappointed. 

Otabek nods, his mouth dry. He kisses Yuri’s forehead. “Congratulations on the medal,” he says and busies himself with Yuri’s luggage for something to do. “You were brilliant,” he says and takes over the luggage cart, starting to push it towards the exit. “Everything was brilliant.”

They head out to the taxi stand in silence. “Hey, is something wrong,” Yuri says quietly.

Otabek is quiet. Yuri is quiet, too, as they wait for their turn for a cab. It feels warm inside, how Yuri knows this about him—that Otabek needs to be given time now, and that he will speak when he’s ready. 

Their cab is a little dingy and has one of those plexiglas dividers that keep the driver safe. They get the suitcases into the trunk and slide into the back seat, thighs touching. Yuri leans into him and puts his head on his shoulder. Otabek wraps a hand around his back. “You were always so much better than me,” he says quietly.

“What is this bullshit now,” Yuri says quietly. He looks up at Otabek. “Where’s this coming from?”

Otabek wonders how to say it. _You’re the most beautiful thing in the world; you’re like a star, you shine so bright in everything you do. I know you’re settling with me, and I know you can get someone so much better, just please, not yet._ Also, _I wish I were better. I wish I could give you that, what those other guys give you._ Also, _Please don’t stop, it turns me on so much._

Yuri tangles their fingers together, squeezes, and waits. 

Otabek loves him so much. 

“At home,” he says, buying himself time.

“Okay.” Yuri shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Fuck, I’m so sore--that was a fourteen hour flight. And I had to sit through all of it.” 

Otabek leans in so he can speak in his ear. “I didn’t know your asshole could stretch that much. God that was hot, you were so--” Otabek swallows.

“I’m glad,” Yuri smiles softly. “I wanted you to like it.”

Otabek is quiet. On the highway, trees and add signs rush past.

“Do you think I’m a loser for liking to watch you with other guys?” he says eventually. 

It’s Yuri’s turn to think. “I think you like what you like, and I like what I like, and if we both agree, it’s nobody else’s business to judge us. I think society can take their stereotypes and their prejudices and stuff them,” he says. “And I think you should tell your brain to stuff it, too, when it starts thinking about this sort of shit. As long as you like it and I like it, it’s enough.”

Otabek nods. He’ll try. If that’s what Yuri wants, he’ll try. 

“Can I nap on you lap?” Yuri says and curls up on the seat, head on Otabek’s thigh. 

Otabek weaves his fingers in his hair.

*~*~*

“If Victor asks, would you sleep with him?” Otabek says three days later, while they cuddle on the couch. 

“Ummm. No,” Yuri says. 

“But you used to like him.”

“Fourteen-year-old me? That twink would have ridden him so hard my ass would have had blisters. He was twenty-five and an actual _man_ and so fucking glamorous—I had the worst crush and tried to act so tough. It was really sad. And then I was jealous as fuck when he went off with Yuuri. But nowadays? I think he’s turned into the most milquetoast vanilla thirty-year-old the world has ever known. Part of me would be curious, sure, but in the end, I wouldn’t. I don’t want to disappoint that fourteen-year-old that idolized him,” Yuri muses. “Does this make sense?”

 _Milquetoast vanilla thirty-year-old_. “So you like it? Being with me? You’re not… settling or something?” Otabek asks.

“Yes, Beka, I’ve been with you for the past three years because I’m the type of guy who’s fine with second-best. Zero drive to excellence; a silver medal’s perfectly fine.” And when Yuri puts it that way, it does sound ridiculous. “I’m happy with you, idiot. I like how we are.”

“I like how we are, too,” Otabek says.

In the background, the TV rumbles. It’s some cliched movie about getting the terrorists and disarming the bomb at the last minute, and they’ve both stopped watching. 

“Would you like to be more?”

“More?” Otabek swallows. 

“You liked it when you saw me so stretched, didn’t you? I’m thinking, maybe we could buy some toys. Maybe you can do that to me--well, that, and other things,” Yuri turns in Otabek’s arms and wiggles. “Would you like that? Because I think I’d like that very much,” he says. 

Otabek is so hard. 

“Ride me,” he says.

“Too lazy,” Yuri says. “Will this do?” He sneaks a hand below the elastic of Otabek’s tracks, and squeezes.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Otabek says, and arches into it.


End file.
